Suite Madame Blue
by Taylor Hayes
Summary: Satine wasn't the only girl to want more. And in the Moulin Rouge, dreams don't come true. Rating for mentions of prostitution and rape.


Suite Madame Blue

a/n stole the title from the Styx song. (in case you haven't guessed already- LOVE THEM.) And though her title is "Madame Blue", she isn't the one the song describes.

_Once long ago_

_A word from your lips_

_And the world turned around_

_But somehow you've changed, you're_

_So far away_

_I long for the past_

_And dream of the days with you_

_Madame Blue_

-Styx

"Madame Blue."

It was hard to remember why she had first come to the Moulin Rouge. A bit of bribery on the part of the Diamond Dogs' mistress, and a bit of trickery from Harold Zidler, and she was trapped.

She had believed she was coming to the Moulin Rouge to be a dancer. A promise of stardom had led her to the place she had thought marvelous and so Bohemian upon first sight. Now she saw it as it truly was: a dazzling, sequin-covered lie. The dream became the trap to catch her, and she was now simply another of the prostitutes who flashed their knickers and kicked out their heals and pulled up their skirts to any gentleman or bastard with the money to pay for their company.

"Madame Blue."

She would never -_could_ never- forget that first night. She had not understood anything, except the glee everyone seemed to feel, and the way men offered her presents and roses and wine, begging her for a dance, just _one dance!_

God, she had been so naive. All was made clear when Zidler approached her, a man old enough to be her grandfather at his side, licking his lips and grinning at her. He had asked her to escort the gentleman up to one of the private rooms. And still, she had not understood. Not until she had turned back, and he had been locking the door and reaching for her.

She had tried to fight, but he was much stronger, for all he appeared elderly and frail. She knew she had screamed and begged for someone, anyone, to help her. To save her. The thought ran through her mind that she was so glad she had known the embrace of a lover before this degradation. Thank God for Pierre, even if he had died and left her behind.

And when it was over, the bastard had licked his lips again, pulled back on his coat, tucked in his trousers and walked out, leaving her crying, ashamed and naked.

One of the other girls had come in, patted her on the back, told her that it wasn't so bad. Zidler had appeared to give her "her cut". And all she could think was that she was a whore.

"Madame Blue."

She never learned to embrace the life as others had. But there was simply nowhere else for her to go. She had no money, and her reputation was in ruins. Who would hire a girl to work in their flower shop that someone might recognize as a "Diamond Dog"? No one.

And so she had allowed herself to be used. She lied brilliantly, convincing men that she had never met one more handsome or accomplished in bed. She became an _exceptional_ whore. And she hated herself for falling to such a level simply to survive. The other girls were kind, but the hardness of their souls, the dead look in their eyes... It was never worth trying to empathize with them, or become friendly.

Then something had changed. _Someone_ had changed everything.

He was young, beautiful, with skin like chocolate. That was where his name came from. "_Chocolat_".

But there was something in his eyes that made her remember before. Remember Pierre. Remember what it was like to fall in love.

She had been overwhelmed and her heart had made an odd humming when she was the first person he spoke to. As time went on, they began to slip away each day, after their "duties" were completed, and simply walk through Paris. Some days it seemed she was the only one who had ever heard him speak. And when he spoke- Oh, the beauty of his words.

He had come from Africa, an indentured servant to a rich man of the Caribbean. He had been ill used and killed his master, before fleeing, eventually stowing aboard a ship. Paris had been the end of a seven year journey.

But this was all forgotten when he told her about Africa. Of the barren grace that the plains and bones of the land seemed to radiate. Of the animals that were the ancient spirits of the continent made manifest. Of the heat and the freedom and the feeling of a circling eternity, endless and inescapably wondrous.

"Madame Blue."

She wanted to be there, in that far-off land with this amazing man more then she wished for anything. It was the dream that caught her and pushed her. She hated herself, she hated her lifestyle and what she did for money. But if she could save enough... She didn't even dare voice her hope.

She was the only one who knew his true name.

Until Satine.

The pale beauty was never one of the Dogs. She was a Diamond. Satine was Zidler's joy, the greatest moneymaker, the greatest lure to everyone and anyone who passed through the doors of the Moulin Rouge. She had sat back and watched as Satine captivated men's hearts, crotches and wallets with a wink and a sigh.

And it had been humorous. Until the day she stood behind the curtain and watched Chocolat catch the Diamond as she slipped from her high swing and plummeted to the floor. As Chocolat carried Satine away, only she seemed to see the light of love that lit the man's dark eyes.

He loved Satine.

She had tried to pretend that it didn't effect her. She had tried to find joy in other things. She had tried to allow their days together to mean what she had believed they did before. But she was so tired. Tired of life and the lies she told herself and knowing she was not worthy of love, or beautiful enough to enchant a man. She was only good enough to be bought for a night or an hour, to satisfy some stranger's lust.

She was not the girl a man would sit and wait eternity for, or pay any price to love.

"Madame Blue?"

Her eyes traveled up to the man standing before her, hat in hand, an eager, embarrassed smile on his lips. So young. So naive.

She knew the part she was meant to play, and she decided the act was over.

Pushing herself up, high-heeled steps firm, her gloved hand reached out and patted the client on the chest. "Don't ever fall in love, boy."

The confusion that flashed across his fresh features brought a bitter smile to her painted lips. Then she was past him, feet taking her up the stairs, through the dressing rooms and the prop areas, past the bedrooms, across the attic, and higher, out onto the roof. As she stood there, breathing the first free air she could remember, a laugh slipped from her.

Would _he_ be there to catch her if _she _were the one to fall?

Then she was gone, stepping softly over the edge.

And when the screams erupted and all the patrons and workers rushed out to gawk at the blood spattered, scantily clad body, only one man in the crowd, eyes like ebony and skin like chocolate, knew the true name of the deceased.

With a sad look, Amoon placed a hand over his heart and whispered a silent farewell to Jean, even then knowing the truth- in the Moulin Rouge, dreams don't come true.


End file.
